Page 63 of Hit Me With Your Best Scot
“It’s a smart thing to do. I’d expect it of ye.” Stepping forward, he took the wine from her hand, set the cork back, and returned it to its shelf. “I need to take a look at Robert Hartwood, both in person and on paper. But I also need to be subtle about it.”
Her own cousin, trying to murder her over money? Such a thing wasn’t unheard of, of course, but for heaven’s sake. She’d been gone for nearly eight years. “I’ve been missing for a long time,” she said aloud. “If it’s Robert, why now?”
“He’s here in London. Mayhap he saw ye onstage and recognized ye. Rather than go to yer parents, he reckoned he’d see to it that ye nae reappeared. And he’s to wed, so blunt’s likely on his mind.”
“No. I can’t believe it. We were never close, but he’s not some devil.”
“The truth doesnae care if ye believe it or nae. It just is. We only need to find it.” Approaching her again, he pulled a small vial from his pocket. “Take a whiff of this, lass, but dunnae touch it.”
Scowling, she waited while he uncorked it, then leaned in to take a tentative sniff. “Garlic,” she said aloud.
“Like that whisky ye didnae drink?”
She sniffed again. “Yes. What is it?”
Corking it again, he returned it to his pocket. “Arsenic.” His expression grim, he put his hands on her hips. “That wasnae bad whisky, lass. It was poison.”
Good heavens. All those little things she’d wondered about in passing—they weren’t simply coincidences or accidents. Someone had been trying to kill her for at least a fortnight.
“Persephone,” Coll said, and she blinked.
“Yes. I’m listening.”
“I need someone who can point your cousin out to me, who can tell me what he’s about without half of London noticing.” His grip on her firmed. “There’s to be a ball on Sunday, at Lady Fenster’s house. A masked ball. If ye—”
Ice shot through her. “No! I will not go there with you!” Making a fist, she pounded against his unyielding chest.
He only drew her closer. “I need ye to help me help ye,” he went on in the same even tone. “I’ll nae let a thing happen to ye. I swear it on Scotland, on my own family’s blood.”
“And what if my p-parents are there, and they recognize me?” Blackness edged her vision, surrounding her.
“Then we’ll go to the Highlands,” he whispered. “Ye and me. Nae a soul would dare come for ye there. Nae with me and all of the MacTaggerts and Clan Ross standing with ye.”
Shutting her eyes, she lowered her cheek against his chest. The hard beat of his heart sounded steady but swift—he wasn’t nearly as calm as he pretended. That realization actually steadied her a little. She wasn’t the only one having difficulty with this plan of his.
“I can’t, Coll. I’m sorry. It’s… Ask me to do anything else.”
She felt his sigh. “Dunnae fret, my lass. I’ll figure out another way. I’m sorry to upset ye.”
“Please don’t make any of them suspicious. I don’t want them back in my life. Any of them. Promise me, Coll.”
His arms enfolded her. “I promise ye,mo chridhe.”
“Thank you.” Whatever he’d called her in Gaelic, it sounded lovely, and she left it at that. The last thing she wanted to know was that he’d called her a fool or an idiot.
“Do ye think Beth or Albert would object if I brought a wee kilt for Michael to the theater tomorrow?”
Albert, Beth’s husband, would likely faint at the ideaof a viscount bringing his youngest son a gift. “I think that would be lovely.”
“I’ll do it first thing; I’ve Aden’s wedding to attend in the afternoon. I reckon I’ll leave my men with ye and come back here before dinner.”
“Your brother is marrying tomorrow. You need to be there for as long as he wants you about. And I imagine your men will want to be there, as well. You said they came down from Scotland with you.”
“Aye, they’d prefer it.” His sigh felt warm in her hair. “Ye could come with me to the wedding. It’s to be a small ceremony, with just family and the lass’s dearest friends.”
“I don’t seem to fit in either of those categories,” she said dryly, deeply surprised at how tempted she was to spend the day with him, despite all the glares and snubs she was likely to receive. In a sense, she even welcomed the insults, because that meant none of them had any idea of her true identity.
“Ye’re my friend, I reckon. And I’ve nae upset the household for days. Hell, I’ve barely set foot in Oswell House for days. They’ll all be thinking I’ve gone soft. Come with me.”
